Live Wire Disconnected
by quiltgrl
Summary: What happened after "Live Wire?" The resolution we've been waiting for!


Live Wire Disconnected

Live Wire Disconnected

The whiskey shimmered beautifully in the shot glass from the incandescent overhead light, attracting his attention. He shouldn't be here in this place, but his AA sponsor couldn't be reached and he was at a weak point. He fingered the glass affectionately, gently moving the pad of his index finger over the smooth rim contemplating his perverse craving for the mellowing spirits. An unaccompanied AA meeting was out of the question he reasoned, a marvelous excuse to engage an old lover for comfort. He rubbed the stubble on his face and put the palms of his hands to his eyes thinking of the long night and awful morning. How could she have done this? Set him up, lied… sold him out. He couldn't believe it. _Her cases will always be more important than you! _

He took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his eyes. The initial anger had diminished and now he was left with the pain, the disappointment and the sadness of it all. He slipped his finger into the whiskey and put it to his mouth sucking lightly as the alcohol coated his tongue, the taste provocative and stimulating, and his appetite grew hungry for more. He fought the urge to indulge himself completely into the forbidden elixir. He licked his lips. _You're heading down a slippery slope, stop and think._ He was on a precipice, put there by his own doing. Constraint waning, he took out his cell phone and punched Roger's number, voice mail. He left a message this time, "I'm at Jakes Pub on Wilshire, the back booth and I have a shot of Jack sitting in front of me. It's talking to me and I don't want to drink it." He could hear the desperation in his own voice sending out the SOS. It was desperation coming from a desperate man tormented by a relationship that seemed to be falling apart.

The enchanting potion glimmered suggestively, and he could think of nothing more than to drain the drink, deluging himself entirely for immediate gratification, and he struggled to muzzle the powerful passion to consume…_and be consumed_. He gripped the glass thirsting to partake of the splendor that would send him into another realm of existence. _Don't do it, you're better than this? There's too much to lose. Not just your girl._

She ruined it with lies, her bottomless pit of shamelessness was quite a burden to bear, and she had not a thought of taking him down there, low and dirty. Would she ever make him feel important, more important then the current case she was working, even the cold ones? _Never! Her work is the reason she lives. You knew that going into this thing, and still…you followed. It's been your choice to stay. It doesn't have to be this way you know. She's hurting you. Why do you keep letting it happen? _He felt used and unloved too many times. He tightened his grip on the glass. She didn't value their relationship. She disrespected his love and trust, and that hurt more than losing a snitch. It was crushing and a mighty sense of anger swelled over him once more causing his heart to race with an intensity to punch something, anything. He needed to keep it in check, the drink would help. It was his solace, his lover.

But he waited for Roger to call. The bar was old and dirty, and desolate. It was morning and the place was near empty, depressing. Sitting in the worn booth he glanced in the grimy mirror covering the wall and didn't recognize the man staring back at him. He looked like a bum on a street corner. His hair was tousled from running his hands through one too many times. His suit was wrinkled, his tie askew, and the tired, dark circled, red rimmed eyes told a harrowing painful tale, and he looked away repulsed at the image, tears of anger stinging them. _Fuck it… go ahead… one drink won't kill ya. _He lifted the glass with a shaky hand when he heard the familiar ring of his cell phone. It was Roger.

He had to have the last word, and then stormed out. He always ran away with every damn argument they've ever had, and it was frustrating. _You hurt him Brenda. You saw it on his face and in his eyes. _She needed to explain herself. She tried to make him see her point, Murphy was a murderer and he needed to go down for his crime. He shouldn't be a kept man by the FBI. The thought of it made her blood boil. The FBI always muscled in on her case, and when she tried to make sure it didn't happen they cried like a bunch of school boys, including her G-Man. Whining 101 must be a prerequisite at Quantico._ You really liked the power of it all, didn't you?_

She'd never seen him so angry, well, maybe once before, but damn there was no reason for it this time. She was simply doing her job, and the bottom line was justice for the victim. It wasn't personal. How could Fritz not see this? They'd been together long enough for him to understand these things. He knew how she operated. _Lies of omission Brenda are still lies. _So she didn't let him in on the full truth, its done all the time in law enforcement. _He trusted you, and then you made him look bad with his colleagues. You're a liar…he thinks so anyway. _Okay, maybe she was wrong with delaying the information about Murphy being in custody, but she apologized for it. An apology he refused and it had her steamed all day long. Damnit, she wasn't sorry for anything else, this was about her job, a job she was trying to do. How the hell was she to be responsible for his too? For heaven's sake!! _He's right isn't he…about the job…always being first, huh?_

She cleaned up the kitchen throwing the remnants of her Lean Cuisine Spaghetti and Meatballs in the trash. It was late and the last they spoke was early that morning. She was too angry to talk with him, no messages, no texts, no contact, which is exactly how she wanted it. _Right! _He ran away when he needed to stay and hash things over, damn coward. How was that her fault? _You didn't like his double standard comment, did you? It's been eating at you all day. It's true isn't it? You would've changed the locks if he did the same to you! _She just didn't get him sometimes. _**She**_ would certainly understand any decisions made concerning _**his**_ job. It was the job for cryin' out loud…the job! How could he not know it?! _It's all you think about, isn't it?! _She'd been pacing the kitchen getting her dander up, and the only thing that would cool her off was a cold shower.

One good thing about this apartment, it had great water pressure. She stood underneath the shower head and allowed the cool spray to pelt her skin. She thought about Fritz being mad at her, and the anger she harbored against him suddenly turned to sadness and she weakly began to cry, her tears mixing with the stream of water running down her face. He told her, more or less, that she'd driven him to drink, and although she didn't comprehend the full magnitude of his proclivity she certainly knew it was detrimental. She busily washed her body using her favorite scented bath soap. Feeling the tenseness in her shoulders she turned up the heat of the water and then washed her hair with the shampoo Fritz liked best. The one he always chose first when they showered together, and she longed to feel his gentle hands message the soap into her scalp. She winced at the thought of how much she missed him. She hated when they argued. He was her anchor, her foundation and fighting with him made her disordered, chaotic life more unruly, and the only thing she could do was to put it straight out of her mind. In staunch resolve she dried up her tears. Whatever this was with him, he needed to get over it, and she sighed in angered disgust.

He had rehearsed the words he would say to her. They were not kind, but harsh and appropriate. She needed to think of him more, and it occurred to him earlier they could use a little break from each other. Decidedly, there was nothing better than the sweet appreciation for something you were about to lose. He hunted her down like prey bounding through the apartment raring to berate her with his words, and the hostility he squelched was whipped into fervor ready to be vented. He heard the water running. She was showering.

He peered over the door and watched her like some perverted voyeur. He stood in a frozen trance as she washed the soap from her long hair, completely mesmerized by her beauty. Droplets of water danced over her skin shimmering in the light, alluring his attention to her breast. He thought of capturing a trickle in his mouth, his tongue sweeping over her skin and onto the stiff peak of her nipple. He felt an immediate response in his pants and he adjusted himself with a curse under his breath. His hostile words now trapped in the back of his throat and he swallowed hard. The scent of her shampoo drove him insane, and he wanted nothing more than to wash the soap from her hair. _Damn!_ This needed to stop. He needed to stand firm saying exactly what was on his mind, but he felt weakened by her appearance, drowning in the seduction of her nakedness. He mustered up strength in his anger and jerked the shower door open surprising her.

She jumped with alarm at his unexpected presence, loathsomely staring at him for his behavior. Oh, he had gall to just barge in on her uninvited during a private moment. He had a disheveled appearance. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair messy and in need of a good wash, his face was unshaven with a full day and a half of dark whiskers, and she could smell a slight fragrance of his cologne long worn away, a stronger whiff of cigarette smoke, but more powerfully the scent of him, Fritz Howard, which never failed to arouse her. His shirtsleeves were rolled onto his forearms and the knot of his tie was halfway down his chest and several buttons were undone exposing the dark curls lying underneath. It was the look in his eye that more than caught her attention, so feral in nature the hair on her neck stood on end. It was frightening and she was unsure if this was her Fritz since she'd never been the recipient of such a wicked glare, and that old saying went through her mind "if looks could kill she'd be dead a thousand times over." He was boring a hole in her. She gulped, feeling her heart pick up pace and a deep warmth rose in her cheeks uncertain of his actions, or hers, because at the moment he looked incredibly sexy. She gasped feeling a stir between her legs, and shivered despite the warmth of the water. Surely he wasn't going to kill her. She weighed her options and decided the best course of action was to meet his match. She continued with her vicious stare, and threw out some angry words, "You smell like smoke. You've been drinkin' in some crummy bar?"

The look in his eye ignited and she knew she was in trouble, but it didn't stop her from further provocation. His face turned crimson as his lips parted, but no words came from them. She grabbed his tie and forcefully jerked him into the shower. Bringing him close to her face, she held up her other hand and pointed rudely, "Don't you ever walk away from me again! Do you understand? You're nothin' but a damned coward! Runnin' away like a little boy, never lettin' me have my say."

He aggressively slapped his hand around her wrist, wanting to get rough with her, or at least kill her with his kisses, and he tried really, to restrain himself, but his emotion was powerful, his need powerful, and he did what any man would've done in the same situation. He rapaciously took her head into his hands and swiftly moved her underneath the spray of the warm shower, and he buried his face into her neck sucking the tender skin until he left marks. He found her lips and kissed them hungrily as guttural sounds came from his throat. Their tongues battled for supremacy. In this encounter they would fight for what they wanted, propelled by their anger. It was a high stakes contest, winning at any cost.

He broke the kiss, panting loudly he looked into her eye ferociously. Soap was washing from her hair over her chest. He slipped his hand over her breast feeling the fullness in his hand. With the soap washed away he dipped his head down and took her nipple into his mouth and sucked deeply. The intensity caused a squeak of pain to come from her throat, and he backed off slightly. The hot sensation of his mouth made her body pulse. She dug her fingernails dangerously hard into his head and shoulder.

She pulled him up in an attempt to unbutton his shirt. Frustrated with her meager attempts and lack of concentration, she ripped it open, the buttons ricocheting off the tile walls bouncing to the drain. Tearing his wet shirt from his body, she forcefully wrapped her arms around him, her flesh smashing with his, slick and hot she slid rhythmically against him and was satisfied by the deep groan within his chest. She bit his skin, and her nails scraped the contours of his rippling abdomen and biceps leaving marks. He was all man and he gloriously turned her on.

He was more than aggressive, and she liked it. He drove her into the shower wall with his bare chest, the cool tiles shocking her hot skin. She felt his length press into her belly and the need for him was almost unbearable, the throbbing of her core absurdly painful. He was kissing every inch of her, the stubble on his face intentionally scrubbing her skin like wet sandpaper. He pushed his leg between hers forcing her knee to the side spreading her apart for better access, but then he ran his hand over her abdomen very slowly, suddenly stalling the progress of a foretelling, expected connection. She was more than ready, but he was teasing her with anticipation wanting her to beg for it. The brutish look in his eye told her he was in control, dominating the encounter. She was losing control and was determined not to let it happen, but her body responded overwhelmingly to his exploitations, especially when he moved his mouth over her abdomen and onto her thigh. He was on his knees holding her open flicking his tongue across her skin, but never coming remotely near the place she wanted most. Her heart was leaping out of her chest, her breath coming in shallow pants, and the heat of her screamed for relief. With her fortitude left stranded, she did the unthinkable. She moved his head positioning his mouth to her thrumming wetness. She gave in and begged, capitulated to his sexual ploys, and feeling so damned weak it disgusted her.

He was very pleased with himself. He made her ask for it. He chuckled lowly, devilish, knowing he'd have her climax in just a few short seconds because he was good at this sort of thing. She'd told him numerous times. He stroked smoothly with his tongue at the familiar folds, delighting in the whimpers that escaped her mouth. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but he abruptly stopped what he was doing to take a good look at her. Her skin was wet and flushed with desire, her head rested against the tile wall her eyes at half mast. It was the sight of complete vulnerability, and he enjoyed it immensely.

She was like putty in his hands, and he could mold her any way he wanted. She was powerless.

Searching for his disregard, she saw the glint of lust and anger in his dark eyes, but it was his smug expression that inflamed her. She could only imagine what she looked like in that moment, and knew it was time to take control. With her hands rooted to his scalp she pulled him up roughly by his hair and devoured his lips in a rigorous kiss and then bit his lower one drawing blood. He pulled away in a scowl, which allowed her to grip the impressive bulge protruding from the thin covering of his dress pants. She squeezed hard, fiercely, revealing both his pleasure and pain. Her hand was like a vice, unyielding, and she spoke with choked fury, "If you're going to give it to me Fritz Howard, then give it to me right now." She jerked him slightly. "Take em' off," she demanded.

He groaned at the strength in which she held him. He pressed his lips together and gritted his teeth. Anger seethed from him as he worked the muscle in his jaw, the power he lorded over her quickly vanished with the crush of her hand in a very delicate location. He was now the vulnerable one, helpless, and jerking against him he had no choice but to follow her direction. He undid his belt and the top button of his slacks his eyes blazing with savagery. She released her grip and took the zipper and slowly slid it down, her nails grazing him and he gasped with the pleasure of it, and he saw the smug look on her face mirroring that of his earlier. She brusquely hustled his pants and shorts over his hips to his thighs, exposing him.

She gasped at the sight, always having the same reaction to his manliness, god he was beautiful. She took him in her hand again, gently this time, caressing his tip, reveling in the sheer size of him, eager for him to be inside of her. She gazed into his brown eyes, seeing his need, imploring with her own.

He surprised her and reached up and adjusted the shower head so the water rained down on both their bodies. It was erotic, heating them up even more, and the wetness that covered them mixed with the sweat from their hot bodies. He messaged her ass and then lifted her up until she straddled him. Locking eyes she guided him in and simultaneous groans flowed from their mouths.

He stood frozen in wonderment feeling her inside him, she was so perfect in every way, and with every union he knew they were made for each other. No woman had ever made him feel this way. The awe and power she had over him had taken his breath away, and he questioned whether she realized this. He began to move against her, slowly, pushing her against the tile wall. His heart was pounding out of his chest; certainly she could hear it beating wildly. He found her intoxicating, irresistible. She was moving with him, coaxing him on, and sinking into every inch she consumed him. He thrust inside her and she matched him stoke for stroke, and he felt the delicious rush of her body against him demanding that he give her all he had, and he was so hard it took great restrain not to spill into her.

She was enchanting and he craved her passionately. He ran his tongue along the curve of her neck, and then kissed her hard. She whispered in his ear, "Give it to me now Fritz." She rocked furiously against him putting him at the point of no return. He did what she commanded, and a few seconds later he saw the expression on her face. He pounded into her burying himself in his own climax, taking him into another realm of existence.

She clung to him tightly, her body shuddering and he could feel the contractions of her orgasm. They were breathing hard like long distance runners, heaving against each other, and he waited for the lights to stop dancing in his eyes. He was wonderfully gratified.

She placed gentle kisses along his shoulder tasting salt mixed with the water coming from the shower. She spoke quietly into his ear, "I love you Fritzy." She held his head close enjoying the connection that wouldn't last much longer.

He pulled back to look at her. Her face was flushed from their exertions and he saw the red chafing along her neck from his abrasive whiskers. Purple bruises were already forming there too from his rugged kisses. But the mark on her body most notable was that which he left inside her. He felt tears sting his eyes at the love he had for her, and resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't be speaking any of the words he so ardently rehearsed earlier. He kissed her ear and pushed her cheek next to his and lovingly caressed her head.

She needed to say something to make him happy, to let him know that she was trying, so she extended an olive branch, "Fritz, I'll apologize to your work people…if you want."

She just didn't get it. Seemingly, the crux of their argument was clearly over her head. Was she clueless or calculated? Sometimes he wasn't so sure and it exasperated him. "No," he said tightly, clearly irritated.

She said the wrong thing, again. He was still mad by the tone of his voice. He'd hate her forever. "Are you going to stay mad at me," she asked, as he put her down, her feet hitting the shower floor. She clung to him waiting for an answer.

It was all so very clear. He wouldn't stay mad, and he'd never ever give her up. It wouldn't matter what she did, or what she said, or how many times he was hurt because he'd always crawl back to her. She was his lover, his solace. Her shimmering beauty was mesmerizing, she was provocative and stimulating and he would always hunger and thirst for her splendor. He would spend the rest of his life wanting to consume her beauty and love, but he knew that he himself would be consumed by her. He felt helpless, but held out hope that he'd make some progress. Like a piece of stone he'd chisel away at her hard heartedness, and perhaps one day he'd have a work of art.

He grasped her head and their gazes locked, "You know Brenda, you really need to open your blind eyes and start seeing some things. If you'd been looking you'd know that you're my addiction."

It appeared as if he'd thrown in the white towel losing the fight, but seeing the confused look on her face he chalked it up to a stalemate.


End file.
